Her room is 4 doors down from mine, just one of the things about her that doesn’t make sense.
Her soft black hair pours down her head like water, stopping just short of her shoulders.
She never lets it touch her shoulders, though she likes to keep it as long as she can, respectively.
I don’t know why I know this.
She has a bright smile, of nearly perfect teeth. She’s somewhat short, and her skin is a mild brown, not denoting any specific heritage at first glance.
That’s another thing. She’s beautiful…but realistic. Possible. Not like any other “Dream Girl”
And that’s the one thing about her that, to me, makes her the most beautiful.
Her name is Amy.
Again, I don’t know why I know this.
I sit on her dark, patterned bedspread , the afternoon sun lighting her room. My back is leaned against the wall and I watch her.
She’s doing something on the computer. Homework…I think.
I can’t see the screen, and that’s just fine. My interest in it amounts to how soon til she will be finished with it.
In my hands, I play with a DVD, which we’ll be watching as soon as she’s done. I don’t know what movie it is. also strange.
Knowing her, and knowing myself, it’s a comedy though.
The phrase, “knowing her” seems weird to me, but I dismiss it quickly when she says, “Right. I’m done.”
I get up enthusiastically, and set up the movie. She finishes up, closing programs and turning off her desktop. I finish before her and jump back on her bed with the remote, lying down casually.
The ease with which I collapse onto someone else’s bed seems odd. Even with my friends, I ask before sitting down on theirs, but I just fall onto hers as though it were my own.
It makes sense suddenly as Amy jumps and lands next to me, partially on me. The pain I feel is as nothing.
She squirms around to better view the small TV sitting on her fridge. Then raises her open hand, signaling that she would like the remote. I give it up without a thought, and wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
The movie starts, but I’m not paying attention. I don’t even hear it in the background.
I’m listening to the sound of her breathing, the scent of her body-wash as it’s slowly being drowned out by her natural aroma. Enjoying the simple feeling of her body, so close to mine.
I’m immersed in her presence, a smile slowly creeps onto my face.
My eyes open. The world is blurry, not just because my contact lenses aren’t in.
They close, and open again. The bright white of the wall blinds me slightly.
I’m lying in bed…
It’s morning, not afternoon. I’m just waking up.
I clench my eyes shut and think to myself, “No! Damnit! Noooo!”
How many was this? The third, fourth? The same dream, the same damn dream!
I’m upset that it was violently ripped away, but much more that it happened in the first place. That it KEEPS happening.
She’s perfect, and that’s not the problem. Not by a long shot.
The problem is…she’s not real, she doesn’t exist. She doesn’t fucking exist!
(I have to somehow convince myself of this.)
I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t
It hurts too much. Pining for that which I cannot have.
I turn over and shut my eyes, wanting to cry.
For some reason I don’t understand…I can’t.